


Flesh and Blood

by Ooze



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooze/pseuds/Ooze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their relationship appeared to be making headway, but taking a step forward often involves taking two steps back. Progress is never easy, but it comes regardless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Don't Understand You

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a thing I wanted to do for Father's Day. Mostly angst because yes.

The balmy climate of Mitis Forest proved to be discomforting for someone like Vergil, who held a slight aversion to heat and humidity. He was not one to complain, yet it was easily noticeable in his manner, in the way he looked at _every_ thing and _every_ body. For some reason he'd followed Nero here; apparently his motives took priority over his personal comfort. He'd spent so much of his time with the young man recently, anyway, that he somehow felt an obligation to accompany him wherever he chose to go. It was almost a routine he'd fallen into. Evidently, it wasn't _so_ unpleasant for Vergil.

As it turned out, Nero was the one with the problem. His attitude toward his father would have been upsetting if Vergil hadn't possessed nerves of steel. Plus, he was used to insubordination on the part of his brother. The two were a lot alike, much to Vergil's aggravation—but, in the same way, Nero was so much like his father, too. The boy was a complimentary balance of the two brothers, it so seemed. Still, Vergil maintained that the youth reminded him of himself rather than Dante in more ways than one. There was so much of Vergil in him... Perhaps that was why Nero had contended with him, ultimately accepting him at his side despite his protests.

The boy's griping had filled the quiet provided by the forest backdrop, but even the din of wildlife was canceled out by the voice that rang out and touched deaf ears. Mitis seemed eternal, the insects that hovered around Vergil's face even more so. He could almost feel the humidity sticking to his skin; a grimace decorated his face in response to the sensation. Was his hair beginning to lose form?

Nero's voice had been given a rest only moments after his last rant as the quiet swallowed them up again. He'd taken the lead, marching ahead of his companion, pointedly having his back face him. Hearing the crunching of foliage beneath the other's boots, Nero gave a backward glance just to see how much distance lay between them. They made brief eye contact then. He'd rounded up Vergil's position to ten feet away from himself, give or take a foot. The man was definitely within earshot, and knowing he'd been hearing everything that came out of the youth's mouth put a smirk on the latter's face which he was quick to hide when his head turned away.

The elder of the party, in contrast, kept himself quiet and expressionless—save for the perpetual glare he'd worn. Why he put himself through his, day in and day out, he did not have the slightest idea. Though, it had to be said, he'd gained tolerance over the time he'd spent with his offspring. The forest was boring him, and, frankly, the only thing that had been giving him anything to give attention to was his bratty child's complaints. He'd heard it all from _"_ _y_ _ou're always getting in the way"_ to _"I can't cut loose with you around,"_ et cetera, et cetera. The fact that demons were yet to be encountered provided Vergil with the opportunity to mull over things he ordinarily shouldn't have. Too much time was on his hands, now.

“Stop staring at me.”

The sudden demand snapped Vergil out of his thoughts. He hadn't noticed he'd been glaring right into Nero's back. A lifting of his brow showed the subtle mental disruption he'd suffered. Nero hadn't even so much as turned to face him—was Vergil really so intensively watching him? Was he so distracted that he got lost in his own pondering? A coarse reply was given. “I've nothing else to look at.”

At that, the youth scoffed, “Then you better find _something_ soon—like in the next two seconds.”

Not a word was uttered, not a sound made as the twosome continued on their way. Only the crunching of grass and leaves gave them an indication that really nothing had changed at all. However, Nero no longer felt the pair of eyes burning through to his soul. His father had complied with him, and it was… rather nice of him. Usually, the man was a complete cactus plant. Nero said nothing of thanks, however, and only kept his back turned to Vergil. He'd thought of a few things he wanted to say already, and he'd get his chance to spew them all soon enough. The endless forest, harboring nothing to serve as distraction, began to bore him, and his boredom worked to tire him out. This made him think more than he liked to, and he realized a break was in order.

Without no prior communication, Nero veered off the path he'd been following, finding malformations on the earth in a nearby clearing that could potentially serve as seating. He sat himself down on one of them, exhaling as if he'd given himself a workout. Leaning forward with his elbows resting on his legs, the youth stared idly at the dirt in front of him for a few moments as Vergil watched him. A calculating look was present in his eyes, but no malice of any kind infused it. A part of him was relieved that Nero had decided to halt their journey just then.

He moved toward the young man with a cautious gait, frowning as ever as his eyes darted 'round to scan their surroundings.

“Why don't you sit down?” Nero wondered coldly, giving him only a slight glance. Vergil should have known to trust his own son's instincts, and he acted accordingly by taking a seat upon Nero's suggestion. The youngest of the two marked him as he now sat across him, and now they were both almost fully in each other's line of sight.

“There, finally—“

“Why are we here?”

Glares met upon Vergil's interjection. One annoyed, the other mistrusting.

“Because I'm tired and you probably need to rest those old bones of yours?”

“You can't elude me. I _know_ there's something on your mind.”

Nero almost guffawed at his father's remark. A grin ran across his face as he broke eye contact, no longer scowling but now wanting to laugh. He managed to stifle the gesture, but that wise-ass, sarcastic expression was indicative of what his true sentiments were. He looked back at his father, smirking before replying, “Then if you're so sure about that, how about you tell me what the 'something' is?”

“Don't be clever with me. I don't like wasting time, so tell me now.”

“Fine,” the youth snorted. “I want to talk. How's that?” The smirk wiped itself clean off his face, no thanks to his father. It took a moment of inaction for Vergil to respond, giving Nero the vague idea that his intentions had shaken the elder just a little.

Vergil, on the other hand, didn't want to have any _serious_ conversation with his son. He had a few good guesses as to what the boy had in mind, and he was reluctant to go any further. Why was he so powerless around Nero? He had to remember who he was, _what_ he was. He didn't have to go along with whatever struck the boy's desire. His frown deepened when he argued, “You've been running your mouth quite a lot already. I've heard more than enough from you.”

“And here I thought you were beginning to loosen up,” Nero countered with a scoff and a brush of his nose. He did not care about his father's lack of interest, yet at the same time he _did_. It seemed interminably hopeless that he should learn anything about the adult. His eyes avoided his father as his head hung between his shoulders. Nero was still able to put up appearances, much like Vergil. In a way, it was his own fault that things had developed the way they had. If he weren't so damned stubborn, maybe they'd actually get along.

Although, Vergil was hardly compliant. What's more, he followed Nero only to retrieve his Yamato. What else would he want with the boy? Oh, but there was much more, indeed, and Vergil was well aware of that. He'd willed himself to stick close, after all; to not outright attack him and force him to relinquish Yamato. That option was there from day one, but he never took it. Now, instead, he humbled himself by simply following his son's lead, assisting him rather than being given assistance. It was an odd turning of the tables, but he hadn't actually complained about _that_ so far. He'd been through worse; he could tough this out. With an exhale, and a patting down of his hair, Vergil was hit by the slightest sense of obligation. Carefully eyeing the boy, he came up with a response. A hoarse, tired voice spoke, “I suppose I could give you the time of day—for a moment.” And there he went, giving in again.

Nero's eyes flicked up at the other's, watching him as a smirk ran across his face. “Oh? Is that supposed to be a privilege?”

“Make it quick, Nero. I'm not staying here for too long.” As if he could detach himself from the kid.

The youth straightened his posture some as he went on to grip either side of his perch. Oh, he'd love to hear whatever Vergil had to say. He replied, “Look, I might be a smart-ass punk but I'm not an idiot. You want Yamato, so what are you waiting for? Face it: there's something else you want from me. You would've taken it back ages ago if something wasn't holding you back.” He didn't mean to imply that he'd simply hand it over, or that he wouldn't put up a good fight to keep it himself; but, knowing Vergil the way he did, he imagined he would have made an attempt. Perhaps repeatedly.

Vergil couldn't help narrowing his eyes at Nero. It disturbed him how he could have been so easily read; but, then again, he hadn't really tried very hard to prevent this. Perhaps it was his own shortsightedness that resulted in him occupying the hot seat. He had to come clean, and there would be no way for him to persuade his stubborn child to simply _forget_ about it. Nero would drag him down to the depths of hell before he let Vergil move away from the subject.

The adult's icy gaze continued to penetrate through Nero's while he ruminated. He was never one to speak freely, and now here he was, sitting across his prying son at the mercy of his questions. He made a snap decision before his hesitation would lead to suspicion. “There's no point in spilling blood, if that's what you're getting at. There are other ways of getting what you want.”

“Not like you could get a single drop out of me, anyway,” the boy hissed back. Something like defensiveness was welling up.

Vergil made no comment but only twisted his top lip at the response. “I've seen you bleed before, and _I_ didn't have to lift a finger for that to happen.” The smallest of smirks emerged upon his face. “Even the right circumstances can afford me the chance to snag a victory.”

“What are you saying?” Nero growled as a snarl burst forth from beneath his facade. He leaned forward in a surge of aggression, almost like a predator ready to lunge, teeth bared and all. His fingers gripped the earth, digging right into the dirt with refreshed anger fueling his instincts. “You'd have me _die_ so you can sneak in and scavenge off my corpse?! And you wouldn't even go to the trouble of killing me yourself, you cowardly bastard!”

“I never suggested I would let you die by another's hand,” Vergil clarified, though with slight irritation. The last thing he could have ever been was a coward, and the implication did something to his ego. His frown deepened as a glower was now introduced. “Are you really challenging me, here and now?”

“This isn't some game, and not everything has to be a fight, damn it!”

“And that's exactly why there is no use in either of us expending ourselves.”

Nero let his weight push him back, sitting with less tension now as he continued to pierce his father with a stony, cold glare—one almost hateful. “I don't understand you at all,” he said as calmly as possible, though his teeth were drawn together as he'd practically hissed the words.

“The feeling is mutual,” his father replied coolly. An interval of silence spread out among them as they sat still, eyes burning into one another. Vergil had not felt hate, nor resentment or irritation the way Nero evidently had. However, he doubted that Nero really truly _hated_. Tempers flared, but it never came to blows. It would be no different now.

The fact that Mitis sprawled out around them, teeming with life in one form or another, reminded the both of them that the world continued to turn, ignorant of their problems and of them in general. The sounds of the insects seemed to amplify with the quietude that hung over the two hybrids. Even with a few buzzing around Nero's face, he kept his glare locked on the man who sat across him. The things going through their minds could probably be given a guess.

Vergil was the first to break eye contact, suddenly taken in by boredom when he turned his head away. So far, Nero provided him with nothing save for a growing headache. He could hear a rumble from the depths of the boy's throat upon his looking away, but he gave no acknowledgment. Rather, he decided to continue with the issue at hand. “You want to know something that even _I_ don't have an answer for.” Eyes darted back to Nero with another turn of the head. “I couldn't help you even if I wanted to.”

A hiss escaped Nero once more. “You're lying.” Vergil could not hope to fool the young man; he was more astute than he was given credit. “You know the answer I'm looking for; you _can_ help.”

“But do I want to?”

“You tell me.”

“You already know.”

A snarl surfaced upon the youth's features. Witnessing his own father's obstinacy toward him only worsened the bitterness that gurgled in his depths. “Why are you so hell-bent on running circles around this?”

“Not circles,” Vergil answered. “I'm not the one persistently returning to the subject.”

Nero would have screamed a “damn you” at that; his bottled up aggression began to leak through the cracks of his relatively controlled exterior. His eyes could have thrown daggers at the man in his line of sight. “I just want—” He stopped himself short just as his voice began to quaver. It was taking more effort on his part to prevent an explosion.

Vergil, however, contentedly sat before him with an inquisitive brow raised. To watch his son react in such a way toward him was truly a curious thing. “Maybe I _could_ help—that is, if you help me first.”

“What?” the boy deeply growled. That was almost funny to hear. Of course Vergil would want a compromise. Nero should have seen this coming a mile away.

“If you help me understand, I can help _you_ understand.”

All right, so maybe it wasn't much of a selfish compromise.

Nero shrank back a little, drawing his lips together from the snarl he'd left on his face. His chest expanded as he took in a heavy breath, obviously trying to calm himself so he could proceed. The tightness in his fingers loosened considerably as he watched Vergil lace his own. “I think I've been pretty clear already. Why won't you just kill me, or whatever, take Yamato, and leave?”

“I would have every right to do that: is that what you believe?”

“Sort of. It's yours, you never let me have it. What more reason do you need?”

A logical assumption, yet it was only just that. If anything, Vergil had reasons for _not_ wanting to forcibly take away the sword from his kin. Some of those were rather complicated to explain and to be understood. “Very true. My brother has no authority giving away that which does not belong to him.”

“But I'm not giving it back,” Nero reminded.

“I won't ask you to.”

The look on Nero's face was absolutely priceless to Vergil. He almost wanted to point it out. Deciding against that, though, he preferred to go on before his son had a chance to recover. “You aren't a child; I figure in time you'll realize what's meant to be returned.”

And that soured things right up again. The torrent within Nero stirred, and once his teeth were bared again he shot up from his perch with the most hostile look on his face that he'd possibly ever directed at Vergil. Fingers curled tightly, fists tensed with all of his rage and annoyance being held back by a simple force of will. He wanted to deck Vergil then, or worse, but he didn't want to go that low. He didn't want to be another Vergil. “What the hell do you take me for?!” And then the yelling began. “I told you a crap-ton of times before: _I'm not giving you shit!_ No amount of time is going to change that. You think because I owe it to you that I'll actually let you take it back? You didn't do a damned thing for me; you get _nothing_ from me! Give it up or kill me over your damn sword right now, I don't care.” At that point a good part of him really meant it: to be killed. What kind of life was he living? He didn't need to deal with all of this—he'd done so in the past. It seemed his existence was full of disasters, one leading to the next. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. If his own blood father only meant to use him, then who wouldn't?

In a huff, he turned away, marching on his original path with no intention of cooling down or even glancing back to see if Vergil really would end him then and there. He was tired of Vergil, tired of not being _only_ human, tired of his responsibilities and everything else. He walked away callously, seemingly the victor, but in reality he'd given up; on his father, on their relationship, or trying to build upon it, at least. It just wouldn't work—there was too much in the way for them to even get within emotional miles of each other.

Vergil, meanwhile, only quietly absorbed it all as it was hurled at him. He made no attempt to excuse or explain. With his son more or less abandoning him, he found it out of his power to do anything about it. The hearts and minds of young adults, whether partial demons or not, were difficult to sway. Vergil knew this personally. Time was a wonderful thing, and despite Nero's objections, it would be time that opens his eyes. How long until that came to pass, however, was a mystery. Not even Vergil could gamble on a guess. But while Nero matured, Vergil could not waste his own time. He'd come all this way for a reason. He thought he had a reason, at least.

With Vergil finally standing, and closing his hand around the hilt of the substitute blade he carried, he dared to speak to the youngster who gradually left him behind. “Stop there, Nero.” His words came out slow, yet clearly pronounced as they held an authoritative weight. Nero was still within earshot, and he slowed his pace when he heard the voice which halted his progress. He did not bother to turn, but merely stood where he'd been stopped.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked in coarse frustration.

“It's one thing to make snide remarks,” Vergil answered as he walked over, “but it's another to make false assumptions.” He stopped a few feet away, not wishing to get any closer to someone who might very readily take a swipe at him.

“What I assume is that you want the one thing that's keeping you on my ass.”

“You assume that I would go so far as to take your life in order to retrieve what is originally mine. This is a mistake on your part. Not only is it a waste of time and effort, but it's a waste of life. Especially one so full of potential, as yours.”

Nero shot the adult a quick glare, that familiar look of mistrust in his sapphire eyes. “I'd be useful to you, huh? You thinking about abusing whatever power I inherited from you _after_ you rip Yamato out of my body?”

A nasty glower instantly manifested on Vergil's face. No offspring of his should ever dare to make a conclusion as wretched as that. To think that Vergil would manipulate his own child? Not even _he_ let that thought ever cross his mind. Perhaps that's what made him soft, but his current surge of anger had shown the opposite. It made him realize, however, that Nero was so much more resentful of him than he previously gathered.

“Hmph. Is that what you think? Only a child would believe something so morbid.” There he went, making things worse.

Nero had a few choice words for him in mind. “Shut up!” he snarled, almost screamed, and an unholy glow took possession of his Devil Bringer at the utterance of those words. He'd had enough. His once blue irises took on a red hue, and the luminous mist that surrounded his arm spread across the rest of his body. There, at his back, emerged his phantom; only a ghost that reflected what would have been his full Devil Trigger form had he possessed more demonic blood. A quaint gift from his father, to say the least.

Vergil braced himself then, genuinely caught by surprise by his son's reaction. Things had never escalated to this level before, and Vergil foolishly believed they never would. He tightened his grip on the sword he wielded, feeling that Nero would indeed initiate a violent confrontation. Words were beyond the boy now. Vergil only kept his glare full on the so called child that he'd offended. That was undeniably a mistake.

The new wave of demonic power that flowed from Nero was hard to ignore; it spawned from rage, and Vergil could feel it like a thick, choking wind blowing in his face. No matter how daunting Nero's power might have felt, Vergil was still confident—overconfident—in his own power, and he believed that Nero was not even a match for him. “Stand down.”

“I said _shut up_!” The ghostly Devil Bringer was extended forth, and in a flash curled its fingers around its target—who was prompt to vanish before the hand could put the squeeze on him. Nero growled in frustration at his father's cheap tricks, though he knew to expect Vergil would make full use of his instant transitioning.

Vergil reappeared only a few yards away, not yet intending to counterattack. He held his sword at the ready, but refused to use it. He was showing reluctance, _weakness_. Could it have been some “pesky fatherly love” which he used to make light of? He was frustrated with the compassion that Nero had managed to drag out of him after all their time together. But he kept a strong front, as usual.

His son withdrew his Bringer, holding back any further attacks for the time being. “I thought I could tough it out, but this is insane. I'm not doing this anymore.” From his arm emerged a brighter glow, and within his very palm the illustrious Yamato surfaced. He felt the weight of the sword in his hand briefly before chucking it forcefully at his father, sending it flying at him with its sharp, lethal end aimed at the adult.

Vergil was _too_ familiar with the weapon's behavior and easily dodged it before impact. He deftly grabbed the hilt before it was out of reach, bringing it into his possession for the first time in years. Vergil could not help himself when he looked it over as it now rested in the palm of his hand, rightfully his again as it always was.

“You want your sword back so bad, you got it. Happy?” And just like that, Nero's Devil Trigger faded. The blue returned to his eyes, and his rage was almost spent. He felt exhausted now, taking heavy breaths as he felt he'd exerted himself. “You win. I don't care. Now you can finally leave me alone!” His words came out sharp, his voice harsh, but his feelings were mixed as he reacted with haste. He turned tail just then, darting off at his fastest before Vergil had a chance to even move.

“Nero...!”

The call went unanswered. And there Vergil was left, in Nero's dust with Yamato in his company rather than his son. Everything had escalated so quickly, yet he got what he wanted. That's what he sought, after all. But his son, his own flesh and blood, had left him behind—and it was Vergil's selfishness that led to this. He fulfilled his wish, but at what cost? To go after Nero would be unwise. No, there was nothing there for Vergil to reclaim. Nero's parting with Yamato was also his parting with Vergil. It was… over.

The quiet of the forest touched the lone half-breed again, and it annoyed him. His empty, endless surroundings; the too human emotions stirring up within him; the fact that a wedge was driven between him and his progeny; it all annoyed him. He shouldn't have to feel this way. He shouldn't care. His Devil Arm was the only thing of any worth to him. Yamato was his again at last. But he could not shake the odd sensation that emanated from the blade—traces of its previous owner lingered upon it, and this only embittered Vergil. Regardless, he could not stay in Mitis Forest any longer. There was no point to it.

With Yamato firmly in hand, Vergil walked back the way he'd come, but not without giving one last, long look at the distant trail which Nero had fled along. He turned his back on all as he coolly backtracked, but his demeanor betrayed his deeper feelings. He dropped the mediocre sword he'd been given on his way out, no longer having a use for it as now he was equipped with all that he needed. Alas, the victory was hollow for him. It all felt cold, almost empty. Very much like himself. There was nothing to be done but to _move on_ , just as always. He had to tell himself that.


	2. Breakaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expected to give this three chapters but that's kind of. Not happening yet.

Disappearing into the fog should have given him the freedom he wanted. He felt just opposite. The emotions that blinded him and obscured his path, much like the blanket of fog that perpetually lay over the deeper part of the forest, only pushed him on to find some clearing, some beacon. His soles pounded into the dirt with each step, his chest heaving and nostrils flaring as he breathed laboriously from the moment he started running. He didn't know where he wanted to go, but only that his body moved forward. Somewhere, in the fog, he wished to get lost—more lost.

There was only one direction in which he could go, and unfortunately he'd already become familiar with the forest's geography. When the fog became lighter, he slowed as his boots dug into the ground, sending him into a skidding halt. His face wore a snarl that never faded, but only now as he stopped to recover his breath the expression ultimately gave way. The boy doubled over as he gasped, lungs burning along with the rest of his body. He gripped his legs for support, on the brink of collapsing but he never made it that far. The din of the forest returned to him as he became increasingly aware of his surroundings. A silent curse was thrown into the void as he took in his first look around.

He straightened his posture, a little more alleviated as he managed to get some much needed oxygen into his system. However, a good part of him was left tired. He didn't know why, really; he was hardly one for fatigue, being as youthful and springy as he was. The emotional toll that recent developments held could have been to blame.

Nero gritted his teeth with the memory still so disturbingly fresh in his mind. His fists were tight balls, knuckles turned white on the one human hand he owned. His struggle amounted to nothing; he'd lost, given up. The fight was never his to win. And it wasn't the sword that mattered—losing it wasn't what held significance. What meant anything to him was the fact that he'd let his so called father beat him. All the trouble he'd caused, and all that Nero had to go through for him, ultimately bested him and counted for nothing. A warrior he was, indeed, but sometimes warriors had to fall. On top of that, he broke his own word to himself. He'd sworn, repeatedly, that he would not yield. Nero was never the type to give in to anything. He fought tooth and nail to the very last, but Vergil was a completely different beast—like nothing Nero had ever faced before.

And it pissed him off.

No amount of growling and snarling would ever give him relief. He stalked around in circles, letting his rage eat away at him. This made way for disappointment, for shame; for regret and guilt, but for anguish, too. He was so damned _confused_ , and all he really knew was that he was hurt. The fact that this was afflicting him at all made no sense and only further enraged him. Nero didn't like Vergil, didn't trust him completely—not since day one—and he never expected to. So why did he feel something so much like… loss? It was a tormenting thought, one almost maddening. These feelings were unfounded, yet they were felt in all their purity. Nero _hated_ whatever he was going through.

It was all Vergil's fault—and maybe his own, too, for letting it all come to this. He should never have tried.

And while he roiled there, he realized he was no longer alone; the familiar sound of demonic breathing and shuffling reached his ears, and only then it dawned on him that he was in Mitis for a reason. Focusing his senses as best he could, he quickly took hold of Red Queen and let out a pissed snort. One by one, the demons drew near until revealing themselves in the sunlight. Assaults—a mere handful of them.

“Finally,” growled Nero, all sense of impertinence drained completely from his being. That vicious snarl returned to his features, and with each of the demons he targeted, he'd already imagined them beyond dead. “I've been looking for you everywhere. Since I'm in a bad mood, I'll make this quick and painless.”

One Assault dared to respond with a hiss, and that was all Nero needed to decide which of the four to slaughter first. Nero had no intentions of making a show of his kills this time—he struck the first Assault with a lunge, proceeding to toss it into the air as he too left the ground. Red Queen was plummeted right into the demon's body, slamming it hard upon on the surface of the earth with a forceful swing from Nero. He'd practically impaled the creature as it found itself unable to move, much as it struggled to set itself free. That's when the others made their move, but Nero was quick to prevent them from so much as grazing him with a claw. Red Queen was instantly plucked from the downed beast and heavily swung against the three others simultaneously. Nero hadn't forgotten his reflexes, as tired as he was, but the rush of adrenaline pushed him while momentarily numbing his senses. His fury helped to fuel his savagery, and all he wanted to do was massacre—not have fun with his prey as he usually did.

From one swift movement to the next, his body jerked this way and that as he lay waste to the aggressors that opposed him. His Devil Trigger might have been compromised, but he didn't need it; in no time at all, each Assault fell to its death. And that was that. Nero was done, completely spent but unharmed.

He didn't realize how awfully exhausted he'd made himself after the adrenaline slunk away. He had to fix Red Queen into the earth just so he could rest against it as he heaved. With the Assaults disintegrating around him, it looked almost as if not a demon was killed there. He cursed at the Order's lack of proficiency for forcing him to deal with his. It was their request that he come to finish what they'd failed to accomplish, and he found it so remarkably funny—in an ironic way—that they had to call upon him to deal with a measly four demons. Well, it was no surprise to him. In the end, Nero was the one member who managed to slay the most out of everyone. God, how he hated being their errand boy, having the dirty work shoved onto his shoulders, but he took it all the same.

Honestly, though: for the Order to believe a handful of demons was a threat of resurgence had to have been the biggest joke. However, Nero's sense of humor abandoned him and he wasn't tickled in the slightest. He was pissed as all hell because the Order had sent him to Mitis Forest. And for nothing substantial, to boot. If he hadn't come here, he wouldn't have had to deal with the bother and—

Vergil flashed in his memory, prompting him to right himself when he thought he'd rested enough. He could not keep that scowl off his face to save his life. But he was wiped out for some reason. He didn't remember when he last felt so… weak. Thinking about Vergil made it worse. Red Queen was put away before he finally started to turn back. If there were any other demons lurking around, they'd have to wait. Nero wanted out _now_. Plus, in his condition, he couldn't take on hordes upon hordes. The one he'd just eliminated was enough.

In all of his inner turmoil, he made his way back through the fog with a sluggish gait. In a way, he was reluctant to return to the populated world. The isolation of the forest was rather comforting. Really, what Nero wanted was to be alone. To think, to feel, to exist all by himself with no one to answer to. But Kyrie would worry if he didn't return. No, he couldn't do that to her. She was far too important for him to desire something so selfish. Her warmth would be welcomed as soon as he made it back home.

Nero rushed himself to find an exit, though his body had been making it difficult for him to push himself any more than he already had. Nero never expected that his fatigue would be due to his loss of the Devil Arm that supplemented him. Was that even the cause at all? It was strange, though, the way he'd felt so poorly only after parting with Yamato. Stranger, still, was his delayed recovery. Perhaps the mental and emotional stress had all culminated to make him feel like a used rag. He wasn't sure, and really did not care at the time. All he wanted was to rest and to forget. But the things that had been said, both to him and by him, haunted his memory the entire trip back to Fortuna. Frankly, when he'd reached the city limits, he was amazed he hadn't collapsed yet.

The boy managed to control his anger by the time he'd gotten out of Mitis Forest. Looking upon Fortuna in all its comfortable glory pushed back some of the hate, but not enough to entirely make him forget. He could walk a little more slowly now as he ventured deeper, ultimately making his way through the residential district which he knew like the back of his hand—or even better.

It was pleasing to see the townsfolk out and about, though many of them had already left the streets as evening drew near. Even though the Order, Nero included, had done a good job of cleaning out most of Fortuna, the cover of darkness still brought out a few demons who seemed to enjoy making their mischief during the twilight hours. Having no desire for becoming a witness to whatever stunt a demon would have wanted to pull, Nero quickly hauled his haggard body toward the small cluster of apartment buildings that housed the one in which he lived. As pissed off as he was, he was still mighty glad to be home.

It was with relief he entered through the front door, surveying the inside of the apartment briefly before mindlessly dropping his keys on the floor. He lazily set his handgun atop a shelf, resting Red Queen on the wall beside it. He hadn't bothered to take off his boots. The small couch he'd often use as a bed was near, and he headed directly for it with a deep desire to lie down and forget the day he'd had. Whether Kyrie was in or not had him curious, but he didn't really investigate. He trusted she was there, knowing that she habitually left the streets come dusk.

The boy rested his body against the softness of the couch. It felt like _heaven_ given his current condition. For some reason, his thoughts wandered back to Vergil, but no such hostility went with them as before. In fact, he mused over where the old man could possibly be; what he might be doing, thinking, feeling—

“Nero? You're back early.”

His human hand covered his eyes as he leaned against the couch, head propped up on the cushion with his face toward the ceiling. That too familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he drew his arm away as he fixed his cool blue eyes on the figure that approached him. A smile unconsciously crept forth. “You disappointed?”

“You know I'm not,” Kyrie replied with a teasing smile of her own. “From what you told me this morning, I thought you wouldn't get back until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, well, the Order gets itself mixed up. Whatever—I'm just glad I got it over with.” Nero followed with a sigh, suddenly uncomfortable now that the conversation would definitely take another turn. His expression faded away when he turned his head to look at whatever was at his feet. Kyrie would see with all clarity that something lingered on his mind, something that he would not be willing to divulge. With her being ever so mindful, he would be spared the questions he knew burned on the tip of her tongue. She regarded him differently, now; he felt the concern in her eyes bearing unto him.

But she would not press, and Nero would leave the day's events at that.


End file.
